No More
by Azulira
Summary: Each day, Gilbert still feels the pain. He can't stand it anymore. He hopes to whatever god may exist that Ludwig won't hate him for this. Rated T for the content of the story.


No More.

Gilbert sat on the cold bench in the middle of the night. He could feel the cold in his bones, the cold that wasn't there in his glory days. The cold that seeped in when he was seperated from his brother. The cold that wormed deeper into him each day he spent with the cruel Ivan.

When the wall fell, he still felt the cold. Ludwig could see it too. It went unmentioned, but Gilbert knew even his white hair had grayed a bit. His bright ruby eyes were dull in color. He always spoke of how awesome he was. He was the only one fooled.

When he went out with Francis and Antonio, they seemed saddened by the way their best friend drowned himself in crappy beer. Of course they did. He didn't need their pity though. Why should he care what they think of him anyway? They don't know what it's like. Sure, they've fought wars and suffered crisises, but they could always bounce back. They didn't understand what it was like when every little step shot pain through their bodies. What it's like when every twitch could cripple a normal human. They didn't understand. No one could. Except maybe the dead and ancient countries. They may understand. He could always ask when he joins them soon.

He grabbed the pencil and notepad beside him as he stood up from the bench. He walked to the grave of the man that had been his best friend. One of the few humans that could understand him. One of the few people he felt like he could still love. He tore off a piece of paper, and held it over the name. He slowly etched out the encarving and folded the paper up. He spoke now in what had surely been days, "I'll see you soon, Fritz." He tucked the paper into his left breast pocket, close to his heart, and began walking.

On his way to the top of a tower, he wrote his final note to the world, to his friends, and perhaps most importantly, to his brother. None of the guards bothered to stop him. They probably didn't even notice him. No one noticed him anymore anyway. That's probably why he's always been so loud about his awesomeness. He stepped past them and made his way to the top of the tower.

The wind was strong as he stood over the abyss. He thought for a moment more about his friends and brother, and his conviction wavered. Should he really do this? Then it was solid yet again. The pain is to much. He would die soon anyway.

It's true. Your life does flash before your eyes. Gilbert saw himself fighting alongside Elizaveta in his childhood and saving Roderich's ass so many times. He saw himself get older and fighting for his little brother's life. He remembered his little brother going off to war too. He remembered how he cried when he saw his little brother's body limp and lifeless in the mud. He remembered fighting for the lifeless husk until the calouses overwhelmed him with pain, and then even more until his body refused to move. He remembered that he spent most of his time then in a drunken haze. Either that or fighting. He wondered if he ever even slept then. He remembered his overwhelming joy when he discovered little Ludwig all by himself, the spitting image of his dead brother. He knew that this boy was Holy Rome in new life. Germany... He remembered cutting back his drinking and raising little Ludwig on his own, protecting him from what happened last time.

His memories drifted towards Francis and Antonio, how they always fought against one another. Then Francis moved on to picking fights with the Brit, and Antonio grew passive. He remembered when his little brother went off to war again. He came back this time, but he had many scars. Gilbert had already started dieing at that point. Ludwig went off into another war. He came back with more scars. Gilbert was still dieing slowly. Then the wall came up and he was with Ivan.

He refused to relive those days. He opened his eyes as he neared the ground, a sad smile on his face as he turned in the air, and saw the sunrise over the land he and his brother had grown up in. His hand reached toward the sun, and he couldn't help but let the tears well in his face. He remembered yesterday. He told Ludwig he loved him. He shared a hug with his two best friends. Then he went to Roderich's and apologized to him and Elizaveta. For everything. Then he went and grabbed a beer before heading to see Old Man Fritz for the last time in this life.

_

The phone rang early in the morning. Ludwig went to grab it. Who called at 7:23 am on Saturday? "Ludwig," Roderich's tone was deeply sad, "It's Gilbert." A panic of alarm went off in Ludwig's mind. Was something wrong?

"What about him?"

"Come to St. John's Mercy hospital." Ludwig dropped the phone and ran to his vehicle, still in his sleepwear, and floored it.

Finding the room was not hard. He ran in and saw his brother, the one that had always taken care of him, bruised and shattered. His eyes were closed, and he was very nearly dead. The machine beeped weakly as Ludwig fell to his knees and openly wept. The strong, stoic Ludwig Beildschmidt reduced to a sobbing heap. He felt a slight pressure on his head and looked up to see Gilbert's piercing red eyes looking straight at him. As he did, the machine cut to nothing, and Gilbert was declared dead. They handed Ludwig one of two papers found on his brother. He read it while crying.

'Please don't be sad. I don't want tears to fall for me. The pain that I dealt with daily is gone. Just remember, I miss you all.

Sincerely,  
Gilbert Beildschmidt, former nation of Prussia.

P.S.: I'm still awesome.

P.P.S.: Ludwig, my brother, I love you.'

Gilbert Beildschmidt is no more.


End file.
